


Notes On the Proper Relationship Between a Magician & His Pupil

by Nothingshire



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Pillar of Darkness, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5109638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nothingshire/pseuds/Nothingshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early days of his apprenticeship Jonathan Strange finds himself plagued by increasingly improper dreams about his tutor. Matters are eventually resolved in the Pillar of Darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_It was midnight when the doorknocker clattered at Jonathan Strange’s house in Soho Square. Strange himself opened the door to find Childermass on the step, his honest Yorkshire face creased and pale with worry._

_“Mr Strange you must come to my master at once, aye sithee,” he said with no preamble._

_“The French are invading again, I take it?” said Strange, swiftly assessing the situation._

_“Aye, ‘appen,” said Childermass gazing up at Strange with tears in his honest eyes. “Mr Norrell is asking for you, sir. Here is the carriage to take you to Hanover Square – only you can aid him now.”_

_Strange turned to his wife, who had joined him at the door. “Bell,” he said “I must go and serve my country – and my tutor.”_

_“Go, Jonathan,” she said with a smile, “and do not think of me.”_

_Childermass handed Strange into the carriage and in a moment they were in Hanover Square._

_“Are Mr Lascelles and Mr Drawlight here as well?” asked Strange as he hurried into the darkened house._

_“No sir. What with them both being revealed as French spies and thrown in the Tower of London, we shall not see them here again,” said Childermass. “I blame myself for trusting them so – not like you, sir, you always suspected them.”_

_Strange patted his arm in a friendly understanding manner. “Do not blame yourself, my good man,” he said. “It has been my curse to see further and deeper than other men for many years.”_

_“I am but a simple servant from the North, sir, ‘appen,” replied the other. “Thank God Mr Norrell has you to advise him!” So saying, he opened the library door and shewed Mr Strange within._

_The room was brightly lit, a hundred books were scattered around and in the middle stood Mr Norrell, murmuring and shaking his head. On seeing Strange he gasped with delight and hurried over to clasp his hands._

_“Mr Strange! Jonathan!” he exclaimed. “Childermass has told you? The French are attacking and only magic can save the nation!”_

_“What is the attack, sir?” asked Strange._

_“Fearful and terrible but the details do not matter. Thank goodness I have been given the aid of so young and vigorous a magician at such a time!”_

_“I live only to serve, sir,” said Strange modestly with a bow of the head._

_“And so you shall my boy,” said Mr Norrell “And in ways that you could never imagine. Childermass you may leave us now and guard the door.”_

_“Aye, ‘appen, sithee,” said Childermass sorrowfully and departed._

_“Now that we are alone sir, I must make a confession to you,” continued Mr Norrell. “There is a secret magic of the Raven King and tonight we must use it to save the nation. The rites that we perform may seem odd to you – even indecent -but they are necessary. Do you agree to participate?”_

_“Of course, sir,” said Strange._

_“And Mrs. Strange? She will be happy for you to do this? You do not have to ask her permission?”_

_“Oh no sir, I may always speak for Arabella,” said Strange. “So, when you told me that you wished magic to be respectable and that we must forget John Uskglass...?”_

_“I lied, sir as I think you have always suspected – I had to test your resolve to study magic by boring you half to death with lectures on Sutton Grove. How did I hope to deceive one as talented and perceptive, as handsome as you? But your intelligence was outmatched by your virtue and devotion to magic and you passed the trials. Soon you will know everything; soon you shall choose a fairy servant from the many who have begged me to be introduced to you but tonight –“_

_Here Mr Norrell took down a great black book with a raven stamped on it, placed it on his desk and flung it open. “Are you ready to begin?” he said._

_“I am sir,” said Strange, eager to rise to the task._

_“Good, good. Now Mr Strange, remove all your clothes and come here to lie down on this table, and I shall prepare the necessary oils and candles.”_

_Strange divested himself of his garments with one swift graceful movement and advanced. Mr Norrell’s eyes swept over the body glistening in the firelight before him with admiration. Then he drew the younger man to him and said...._

“Jonathan, you are poking me in the side.”

“What?” said Strange. He stared up at his bedroom ceiling and tried to remember where he was. Beside him Arabella sighed and settled back down in the pillows.

“Excuse me Bell,” whispered Strange and tiptoed out of the room.

Down in the kitchen he helped himself to a hardboiled egg, ate it in a melancholy way and asked himself for the thousandth time how he found himself in such a situation. He was as happy and contented as any young man with a beautiful wife could be. Why were his dreams plagued with visions of a Yorkshire pedant with spectacles and a ridiculous wig?

The problem had begun during one of his lessons shortly after the start of his apprenticeship with Mr Norrell. The older magician had set Mr Strange the task of memorizing a few dusty pages of Sutton Grove to do with rain magic; Strange had learnt them very rapidly and then found himself sitting in a comfortable armchair close to the fire in Mr Norrell’s study with nothing to do. His tutor was busy at his own desk and naturally Strange’s mind began to wander.

He considered how very pleasant it was to finally have found his life’s occupation and to be petted and praised for his efforts in mastering it. Not only that, he was regularly introduced to Admirals and Generals – men of his father’s generation – as “Mr Strange, a remarkable young magician who assists me and may soon be ready to assist you when I am busy with more important matters.” Strange was very ready to be admired for his magic and Arabella, however much she loved him, could not quite reassure him here. That was Mr Norrell’s responsibility.

True, he sometimes felt that his tutor could be more forthcoming on the question of the Raven King but he reminded himself to be patient. Mr Norrell had so many more years of knowledge and experience; Strange could not expect to learn his deepest secrets in an instant. Once he had proved his worth entirely, then the apprentice magician would have everything revealed to him.

“Have you finished already, Mr Strange?” said Mr Norrell. “Let us see if you can recite all seven different types of rain that a magician may summon listed there.”

“Faint, Spit, Light, Cold Drizzle, Warm Drizzle, Shower and Storm, sir,” said Strange. It was not a difficult question as he had read the page a hundred times by now.

“Very good,” said Mr Norrell, rising from his chair. “I believe you deserve a reward”. Then he walked to where Strange was sitting, fell to his knees, undid his pupil’s breeches and, with the same sweet smile that he had given Strange on first seeing his magic, fastened his small warm mouth to Strange’s member. Strange lay back in the chair, quite unsurprised, and much enjoying the sensations of Mr Norrell’s tongue, his eyes mesmerized by the little tassel on his tutor’s cap bobbing to and fro.

“Tea, sir?” said a voice in his ear. It was Childermass, holding out a cup. This seemed extremely civilized and Strange leant out to take it, being careful not to spill any liquid on Mr Norrell who was still bent to his task. But he could not help twitching in pleasure – the cup rattled in its saucer - hot tea spilled into his lap – he cried out – and Childermass grinned.

“Are you hurt Mr Strange?” came Mr Norrell’s voice. He was not kneeling at his pupil’s feet, Strange realized but still behind his desk. However Childermass was indeed standing by the armchair at an ironical angle, holding a cup of tea and regarding Strange with a quizzical look.

“I was lost in thought sir,” said Strange. “Do not worry, the book is not stained.” He looked down at his lap. Mr Norrell’s little cap was not bobbing there but part of Mr Strange was about to and the fashionably thin breeches that he was wearing would do nothing to hide the fact.

“I believe that I have a touch of lumbago, Mr Norrell,” he said, getting up and stooping over slightly. “Perhaps I should go home and return tomorrow.”

“Oh by all means Mr Strange, lumbago is not to be trifled with. Childermass I told you that these curtains were not thick enough to keep out draughts!”

“Curtains are Drawlight’s responsibility,” Childermass was saying as Strange closed the study door and hurried out, pausing only to snatch his coat and hat from Davey in the hall. In the privacy of the carriage ride home, having mastered himself, he pondered over what on earth could have sent his daydreams down such a path and concluded that it must have been the old piece of cheddar cheese that he had eaten for supper the night before. Arabella was waiting for him at home – he kissed her with delight and thought no more of Mr Norrell and his cap. But a week later the problem reoccurred.

Mr Norrell was standing on the library steps pulling out volumes and choosing, it seemed, the dullest and worst written passages in them to read aloud to Strange - and his pupil’s thoughts again began to wander. It occurred to him that when Mr Norrell stood halfway up the steps, he was as tall as Strange. That meant that if his pupil were to stand behind him with his arms around his middle and Mr Norrell were to hold tight to the staircase banister and face the books – and if of course certain items of their clothing were laid aside - then Strange could address himself to his tutor’s plump bottom in a way that would have not been recommended in Sutton Grove. He acted this little play out in his mind – it seemed that Mr Norrell would be surprised to find Strange behind him but not unwilling for him to stay there - and their mutual efforts had moved the steps across the floor quite some way before Mr Lascelles coming in with copies of a new edition of the Friends of English Magic interrupted Strange’s reverie and brought him back to himself.

He was obliged to claim a copy of the magazine and pay Lascelles a compliment in the process of doing so with a plea that he not be made to wait to read the latest editorial. Then once again he again rushed out of the house to his carriage cursing that he had not worn thicker breeches. On this occasion, once his equanimity was restored, he told himself sternly that he must put an end to such phantasies; what would Mr Norrell think were he to find out what his pupil was imagining? How angry would he be? Strange would remind himself of this when they next met.

Unfortunately, imagining an angry Mr Norrell did not have the desired effect. It seemed that his tutor had traditional ideas on punishments for disobedient pupils and Strange’s next lesson was taken up partly with nodding and saying “I quite agree, sir,” as his tutor explained why Watershippe’s ‘Crimes of the False King’ was a most excellent and rational book and partly with picturing himself bent over Mr Norrell’s desk, his breeches around his ankles and Mr Norrell wielding a cane with some vigour behind him (Childermass having materialized momentarily to hand it to him).

Strange next urged himself to remember his own happy home and beautiful wife. But that only lead him to pondering on Mr Norrell’s household. There was of course no Mrs Norrell but there was Childermass and Childermass stayed at Hanover Square at night when Strange was obliged to leave. He was probably allowed to mount the stairs up to the first floor where Strange had never been but assumed Mr Norrell’s bedroom was. Once he was there, who knew what else he was allowed to mount? Strange considered this in some detail before concluding that Childermass’s dirty fingernails would never be endured by Mr Norrell in any intimate situation. But that only further convinced him that his own advances might be encouraged.

In short, the younger magician now found himself in every lesson as if he were in two realms at once, one real and one imaginary. If Mr Norrell denied that he owned a particular book, then Strange found himself in his mind strolling over to his tutor and asking if there was any particular service he could perform that would persuade Mr Norrell to remember that he did in fact possess the volume? If the other magician wondered aloud about a rare liquid that could be used in certain rituals then Strange was sure to find himself wondering if his body and Mr Norrell’s hand could not together supply it.

At one point he decided to pretend that Mr Norrell was unwilling; that would surely kill any desire as Strange could not imagine a greater horror than forced intimacies. But however strongly Mr Norrell began by refusing him, at some point he was sure to turn and smile and tell Strange to do as he pleased; the truth was that however powerful Mr Strange’s imagination might be, he could not quite imagine that his advances would be unwelcome.

In despair he resolved to make himself picture another person interrupting himself and Mr Norrell at their imaginary activities in the hopes that the shame would cure him. An opportunity occurred the very next day: Mr Norrell had begun a particularly tedious monologue on the Raven King and Strange had almost in self defence began to daydream of his tutor bent over his desk with Strange engaged in thrusting behind him (Mr Norrell was still merrily discoursing away – nothing could distract him from a lecture it seemed so long as his mouth was free). Strange grimaced and brought a series of phantom spectators into the room.

The first was Arabella but that was disastrous. To begin with, she roared with laughter and next struck up a conversation with Mr Norrell where several of Strange’s own idiosyncrasies were discussed in a manner that no husband wants to hear outside the bedroom.

Next Strange summoned Childermass but that gentleman merely observed them for a few moments before advising Strange not to set a pace that he could not sustain and telling Mr Norrell not to expect him to clean the desk once they were finished. Then he strolled out of the room.

Finally Strange brought in Drawlight and Lascelles. However, the former simply gazed at them through his lorgnette with intense interest without speaking and the latter gave Strange such a look of jealous horror that it was more an incentive than a discouragement. On that occasion when Strange left Hanover Square he was obliged to cover his blushes by snatching a newspaper out of Mr Drawlight’s hands and dropping a glove in the process.

Strange could only resolve to avoid any direct contact with Mr Norrell and hope for the best. That was difficult because Mr Norrell naturally saw no reason why he should not lean over Mr Strange’s shoulder to point out a passage or take his hand to perform a spell. The day after his dream of French invasion he was at his tutor’s house pouring over ‘A True Method To Find Buried Treasure’ when Mr Norrell came to stand by him for some moments. The edge of Mr Norrell’s gown brushed against Strange’s hand; he found himself staring at the nape of Mr Norrell’s neck and wondering what it would be like to kiss it or simply to brush his cheek with a finger.

He was pondering for a moment why these innocent little touches seemed even more pleasant than his wilder phantasies when he looked up and saw Childermass leaning upon a wall at a knowing angle and staring at him with a smile. Could Childermass have somehow read his thoughts – now, or even before? The way that the man propped himself up on any available surface and observed the world reeked of secret knowledge. Strange reminded himself that that was simply Childermass’s way – the man would appear to be leaning at a knowing angle against a wall were he standing to attention in the middle of Salisbury Plain. Then he made an excuse and went study the books in the far corner of the study until he was himself again.


	2. Chapter 2

Perhaps it was lucky that Strange was sent to Portugal when he was. There he had all the distractions that he could wish for from thoughts of Mr Norrell and was forced to rely on his own judgement as far as magic was concerned. When he returned, the process only quickened. It was increasingly obvious that his tutor would never trust him as Strange wished. So, he broke with Mr Norrell and when he thought of him (which was often) it was with the bitterness and fascination of a rejected lover. He and his old tutor were of course reconciled some time later but not in the manner that either of them could have expected.

One morning (for argument’s sake – it might just as well have been the middle of the night in the Pillar of Darkness) the two magicians went together to Mr Norrell’s old house in Hanover Square which had obediently followed them Behind the Sky with their other residences when they began to travel. This was their first visit to it since both of them preferred to spend their time in Hurtfew or Ashfair. Mr Norrell had never thought of his London house as his real home and Mr Strange had no reason to go there. But they had run out of a great many supplies and wanted to see if anything had been forgotten there when Mr Norrell fled back to Yorkshire. 

Mr Norrell went upstairs to see if there was anything worth taking from the bedrooms and Strange went into the study to search the desk drawers for paper and ink. He worked as quickly as possible as the room was cold and dismal and it was disconcerting not to hear or see the London streets outside its windows. The desk appeared to be empty - he felt to the very back of the drawer to be sure that he had not missed anything and pulled out a small wad of leather. He unfolded it and saw that it was a glove – too large for Mr Norrell’s hand. Then he recognised it as one of an old pair of his own, brought from Shropshire when he first came to London to be apprenticed.

“Here is a find, sir,” he said to the other magician with a chuckle when Mr Norrell returned to the study with an armful of pillows. “Of all the useless things we might have salvaged, one of a pair of my old gloves. How do you suppose it got into your desk?”

Mr Norrell did not laugh (which was not unusual) but he blushed and hugged the pillows closer.

“Why do you ask me?” he said.

“Because it is your desk, sir and because the glove cannot have crawled in there itself,” said Strange, thinking that even for Mr Norrell this was a skittish response.

“I do not know Mr Strange. Please stop interrogating me,” said the other. Strange was always a little alert to the idea that his old tutor might be hoarding a secret and resolved to probe a little further; there were few other demands on his time at present.

“I remember losing it before I went to Portugal – I must have dropped it here. But still, how do you suppose it ended up in the drawer?” he asked.

“One of the housemaids must have found it while cleaning and put it there.”

“A housemaid? But I remember that you never allowed them in your study. Only Childermass was trusted to tidy here – you were very particular on that point.”

“Then Childermass must have done it,” said Mr Norrell, clutching the pillows ever tighter. “Now let us go back to Hurtfew. I am sure that there are boiled eggs in the kitchen,” he added with a nervous smile.

“Childermass would not have put an old glove in your desk, he would have thrown it away,” said Strange walking closer to him.

“He might have thought that it was mine,” protested the other.

“How, sir? It is much too large for you to wear.” Here Strange grasped Mr Norrell’s hand for a moment and the pillows fell to the floor.

”If the glove was in your desk then I think that you must have put it there,” Strange continued. “Why? Were you trying some kind of sympathetic magic with my clothing? Attempting to spy on me or follow my doings when we had quarrelled? I really think that I deserve to know.”

Mr Norrell looked as if he wished to make a bolt for the door but since Strange was standing in the way and the pillows would have tripped him, he said in a low voice – 

“You left it a few days before you went to The Peninsula. I merely kept it as a kind of keepsake. It was foolish, I agree but it was only a glove. You were my pupil then and my ambassador for magic – you can surely understand that I thought of you and was concerned for your welfare when you were at war?”

“I thought that you were more concerned for your books, sir, to speak frankly, and glad to be rid of me,” laughed Strange. “But I am sorry to have belaboured the point; obviously a small token can mean a great deal when people are parted. Why, I kept an old handkerchief of Belle’s with me throughout the war and at Waterloo and sometimes I would hold it and think of her when my spirits were low. That is what we do when we want to remember those we love”

He stopped and realised all at once what secret his old tutor had been keeping. Mr Norrell gave Strange a look of utter anguish and slumped into an armchair with his head in his hands. After a moment, Strange went and knelt beside him.

“Sir,” he said gently,” I am not angry – surprised a little, perhaps. I had no idea that you had such tender feelings for me to that degree. I know that we are true friends now but then – I felt that I disappointed you by the end as much as pleased you. Really, I am very flattered to know that you cared for me so much. Do not feel that there is anything that you cannot tell me of those days. I dare say that you have many stories of how I annoyed you in this room. We can sit here and talk of them if you wish. But do not keep secrets from me – we cannot have secrets here.”

The other magician looked up and nodded and Strange bent to retrieve the pillows.

“Mr Strange, there were other things besides the glove,” the older man said.

“What other things, sir?” said Strange.

Mr Norrell sighed then plunged on.”For instance, sometimes I held the glove and imagined that your hand was in it. Sometimes when you were reading in this room I used to look at you, for no other reason than because I liked to see you frowning over a book and you did not know that I was looking. I used to sit as close to you as I dared when we were reading together. Once when you left the room I sat for a moment in the chair where you had sat. Once,” - here Mr Norrell closed his eyes as if in agony – “ I had us perform a spell together so that we might hold hands to cast it when I knew that it would have worked just as well if we had not.” He hung his head as if awaiting a blow.

Strange laughed, which made him look up tearfully and his old pupil rushed to reassure him.

“Sir, sir,” he said, patting his tutor’s knee.” I am not laughing at you I promise. It is just that all these confessions are so innocent and you are so ashamed of them. If you only knew what I was imagining when I sat in this room,” he added before he could stop himself.

“What you were imagining Mr Strange?” said Norrell. “What do you mean?”

In for a penny, in for a pound thought Strange and plunged on.

“Well, for example I quite often daydreamed that we sat together in this chair and kissed when you were pleased with an answer I had given you during my lesson. Sometimes you rewarded me in other ways.”

“I kissed you twice?” said Mr Norrell, puzzled.

“Not exactly, but you still used your mouth.” 

Mr Norrell considered this for a moment then blushed violently. Strange grinned and continued.

“There were other times when I made you very forward offers of what I would do should you let me have a book I knew you owned but would not let me borrow. Moreover, you would not believe how we abused the furniture here.”

“You imagined us – in congress- Mr Strange? In this study?”

“In this study, on this chair, on that desk, on the floor, on the library steps,” said Strange.

“Did you ever listen to me at all?” said Mr Norrell after a pause.

“Of course, you were most of English Magic to me then. But you would not be open with me and the feelings faded”. 

“Well, sir, I feel a little less guilty for having held your hand,” said Mr Norrell with a sniff. “Thank goodness you no longer have these dreams – I suppose.”

“I did not for quite a time,” said Strange. “Now I think they may be coming back.“

“But why? Because we are in this room? Because you have no one else to imagine who can be here in this darkness?”

“It is, I think, because you and I were set upon the path that led us here before we were born sir,” said Strange quietly. “However we turned our backs on each other along the way we were meant to meet here at last. In the beginning we were very harmonious in our travels and that is why I think I imagined us joined in such a manner. Now after many quarrels we have become friends again. What is more natural than that I should remember my old dreams? Can you say that you do not sometimes gaze at me when you think that I am not looking or maybe brush my hand?”

Mr Norrell considered this for a long moment then leant forward and pressed his lips very quickly and gently to Strange’s.

“You have kissed me, I may kiss you,” he said as Strange smiled at him.

“Only in my mind, sir; I am the one whose bare hand was held. But you may make more demands on me than a kiss if you wish. I mean to make more on you.”

Mr Norrell leant in shyly again and the two of them kissed for longer, once Strange had managed to tilt his long nose at the proper angle. As he had once before, he reflected on how much more he enjoyed this slight reality to the phantasies he had summoned.

Mr Norrell broke off for a moment. “The library steps – that was very foolish Mr Strange; the movement would make them fly across the room”.

Strange acknowledged the truth of this.

“But we could wedge them into the corner, I suppose,” continued Mr Norrell thoughtfully.

They fell to kissing again.


End file.
